01 March 2014

MEETING RIC by Puma Perl

I pulled the rental over,
a 4 cylinder pussy car
reeking of stale Marlboros.
Ric was waiting in the lobby.

Hadn’t seen him in a while.
He looked bigger than I remembered,
tried to figure out if his size
made my ass look smaller
but couldn’t get the right angle,
and then the elevator came,
the doors shut, and he pulled
up my skirt and shoved his hands
down my pants, a signature move,
if I remember correctly, but hot
just the same. Smoothly, he slid
the hotel key into the slot,
as he has done in every state
and several countries, unzipped
his pants and waited. He didn’t
have long to wait, but he never
did, not for anything he wanted.

When were finished, he followed me
to the Dollar Rental, I dumped
the jalopy, jumped into his old Cougar,
and we looked for a place to eat,
finally wound up in a steakhouse
with an old-fashioned jukebox
and beer on tap. We played the old
ones – Stones, Neil Young, even
a little bit of Bruce – the window
looked out on the empty main street
of another nameless town, I guess
everyone was home watching TV
or fucking or playing with their kids.
We were passing through, as usual,
planes leaving that night, he’d drive
south, I’d fly west, or maybe
the other way round, never mattered.

Said good-bye at the terminal,
pretended I didn’t care, he drew
shades down over his eyes, a hug,
a moment, gone till next summer
or next year, we always turn up
some place, ride an elevator,
eat a steak, kill a night, always
on our way somewhere else,

never much matters where.

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